by Jennifer Joy
Lofton raised his fists in the air and saluted the crowd, their cries growing louder.
The round continued. Tanner could hardly see out of his left eye, his cheek was so swollen. But he lunged forward, determined not to be knocked off his feet. A fall would end the round and put Lofton in the lead, and if Tanner was anything, he was solid. He may not be as skilled as Lofton was, but he would not make it easy for him either.
Taking advantage of Lofton's proud prancing, Tanner looked over the crowd again. Still no Sir Francis (so far as he could tell.) Where was he? Tanner did not know how long he could hold off Lofton.
"Remember who you are, Tanner," Lofton taunted. "A nobody. That is all you will ever be." He turned to the masses again, raising his palms up in expectation of their applause.
Where was Sir Francis? Tanner’s eyes flickered over the crowd, when at his feet, a voice he recognized shrieked, "Tanner! Watch out!"
Down Tanner went before he saw Lofton coming, his face smacking against the plank floor and throbbing at the blow he took to the temple.
Tanner landed right in front of her. Even with his vision blurred and the soot disguising her face, he knew her. He would recognize those stormy eyes of hers anywhere.
Arabella pulled her cap down around her ears and reached through the ropes to touch his face. It hurt, but he did not care. Her touch filled him with energy. "He may think you are nothing, but you are everything to me. Now, end this fight! Throw him out," she said.
Tanner got up, his heart soaring and the blood pumping through his veins reinvigorating his aching body. Arabella did love him. She loved him enough to risk her reputation by sneaking into a pugilist match to offer her support. His feelings on that were mixed, to say the least, but right now, he focused on the part that made his spirits soar. Bella loved him.
He stopped looking for Sir Francis. What happened on that raised platform was for Arabella, and Tanner trusted no other man with her freedom.
Arabella was right. If he was expert at anything, it was ending a fight. He had imagined he was back at his tavern so many times, the place he had the authority to refuse service to a man and throw him out whenever he chose, Tanner had not considered that it was not the place that gave him that authority so much as his being willing to exercise it. Lofton was nothing more than a showoff stirring up trouble like a loudmouth drunk in a tavern. He needed to be thrown out. But how?
As Lofton bounced around and raised his hands for applause, it struck Tanner. Lofton might be lofty, but he was not the sort to exercise his skill quietly. He needed to be noticed. He sought approval.
The impenetrable mystery of Lord Lofton’s character cleared, and Tanner saw what should have been obvious to him from the start. Lofton’s greatest secret was not any one evil deed waiting to be discovered. It was his need for his skills to be praised.
A trick shot through a window, a curricle charge a hairbreadth from disaster… Two feats of amazing and surpassing skill, and Lofton had nobody to brag to about them or clap him on the back in acknowledgment of his accomplishment.
It all made sense to Tanner now. Lofton's craving for attention was why he had tripped Tanner at Sir Francis’ ball. Too bad only a few had seen it. How that must have grated on his nerves!
It was why he had challenged Tanner to a pugilist match. What was more public than that?
But Tanner had not been raised under tavern roofs since his birth for nothing. He knew how to handle a crowd. He knew how to turn them to avoid a riot. Lofton had said to remember who he was. Well, he was the son of a barmaid and the proud manager of his own inn while it had lasted. And Arabella chose him. She loved him. If that was not enough to make a man's chest swell, then nothing else would.
Tanner would start over again. He had done it before. And no snot-nosed, attention-craving brat in need of a good thrashing would get in his way.
Lofton lit into him again, but Tanner charged forward through his blows.
Lofton had not anticipated his move and nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to change direction. His smug smile was gone. Neither his title nor his wealth did him any good in the middle of a pugilist ring where there were few rules and fewer manners. No, Lofton had made a big mistake asking Tanner here. He was out of his element. This was Tanner's turf. In Tanner’s mind, he was inside his tavern, defending the reputation of the woman he loved and fighting for their future.
Tanner listened for cues from the crowd. He needed to choose his moment well if he was to gain their favor.
Lofton lashed out at his side, but Tanner had learned his moves. He fended him off with his fist, returning it to protect his face before Lofton could turn his attention to his nose again.
Around and around they went, and Arabella's words sang in his ears and fed his hope as the crowd's jeers died down. They watched in absorbed silence with their jaws open. If Tanner did not act quickly, he would lose their attention. He was an actor in a play, a spectacle in a circus for their entertainment — and entertain them, he would. Just like he saw to the comfort and whims of his guests.
It was time to give them a show.
Taking one step back, he dropped his hands slightly. Lofton reacted just as Tanner had supposed he would. Showering Tanner with a frustrated flurry of fists, Tanner held his ground until Lofton wound one of his arms back.
It was the moment for which he had waited.
In one swift motion, Tanner stepped forward until he was face to face with Lofton, bumping him off balance with his chest. Grabbing him by the shoulder, he spun Lofton around, wrapping his arms around the ingrate and holding him like a parent immobilizing an unruly child in front of him with his arms pegged to his sides.
Gasps filled the room.
Lofton, however, was no fool. Not having the use of his arms, he used his head, lashing back repeatedly.
It was too common a move for Tanner not to expect it.
Using his size to full advantage, Tanner locked one arm around Lofton, looping the other over his shoulder and pushing his forehead down with his palm. Any lower, and he would bite Tanner. It was like juggling a flour sack (albeit a slippery one) and a tray of ale pitchers. Nothing Tanner had not done before.
Chortles rippled through the crowd, and Tanner felt Lofton stiffen under his hold.
"Unhand me! You cannot do this," he seethed.
"My hands are above your waist. I break no rules."
Laughter scattered through the men surrounding them, growing louder and spreading as humor lent them courage.
Sensing the opportunity he had been seeking, Tanner lifted Lofton up so that his feet dangled above the ground.
Lofton, of course, did not like that at all. He kicked with his feet (them being the only part of him he could move). He felt like a greased pig in Tanner's arms, but he did not lose his hold. The audience was turning.
When Lofton's kicks felt more frantic than calculated, Tanner said in his ear, "It is not me they laugh at now."
Lofton tensed. "Put me down immediately," he hissed.
"Very well. Since you asked for it."
Chapter 32
Arabella found herself laughing along with the men pressed around her. It truly was a comical scene with Tanner holding the viscount's arms and dangling him above the ground while Lofton kicked like a toddler having a tantrum.
She could hear nothing above the noise in the court, but she saw that Lofton said something. Arabella knew from the mischievous glint in Tanner's swollen eyes that Lofton would not like it one bit. Had she been in Tanner’s place, she would throw him down like a sack of potatoes.
He waited until Lofton resumed his kicking then, just as Arabella had imagined a moment before, Tanner let go.
Propelled forward by the thrust of his kick, Lofton landed face first against the planks. He did not get up right away, and the end of another round was called.
Round one, Lofton.
Round two, Tanner.
The men assembled around her roared. They pointed a
nd laughed as Lofton rose to his feet. His back was stiff and his face showed the depth of his displeasure.
Bruised pride affected his aim. The blows he had so accurately assaulted Tanner with in their first round missed their mark or lost their impact.
He turned to the crowd, raising his hands as he had done before. But he got fewer cheers.
Tanner had won them over. He would need bottles of witch hazel and a week of ice baths, but she would nurse him back to health. If he tried to stop her … well, she would just like to watch him try! She could be every bit as stubborn as Tanner, and she kicked harder than Lofton. From Tanner's side, she would be immovable. Even if they lost and he had to start all over again, she would take pride in working beside him. It was where she belonged. It was where she longed to be.
"You are nothing!" Lofton shouted, lifting himself back up to his feet.
Tanner bellowed, "So you keep saying," with a grin. He did not care what Lofton thought of him. Good!
"Nobody wants you here," Lofton continued, lashing out and striking the air when Tanner lunged to the side.
"How strange when you invited me here." He ducked to avoid another punch, adding, "If my company is so disagreeable to you, you are welcome to forfeit."
That drew some laughter, over which Lofton shouted, "To a man with a borrowed surname? To his real father's shame? Never!" He raised his hands to the crowd, but the men around Arabella looked down at the ground and shuffled their feet.
"Is this a pugilist match, or are we to shout names at each other from opposite ends of the ring? The people came to see a fight! Fight, man!" Tanner boomed.
Lofton glared at him, and Arabella had to cover her ears at the vocal approval from the spectators. So enthusiastic were they, they pressed against her so that she had to hold herself against the platform lest they crush her.
"You do not have the skill to best me. I am unbeaten." Lofton did not look to the crowd anymore … if he even remembered they were present. His eyes narrowed on Tanner, his gaze unwavering despite the cries of the multitude.
"You, sir, are nothing but a coward," Tanner charged.
At that, the crowd hushed.
Lofton puffed his chest out. "You dare call me a coward!"
Arabella imagined it was the first time anyone had dared cross him. (Besides her, that is … and they all knew how well that had turned out!)
"You call the shots, but you refuse to get your own hands dirty. You did not have the courage to murder Nicholas Annesley yourself. You hired someone else to do it. You lacked the skill."
The crowd was still now. Arabella could have heard a coin drop. Even she held her breath, not wanting to miss a word.
Lofton took a swing, and Tanner did not even have to move to avoid it. Tanner pressed forward, crossing again into Lofton's side of the ring.
"If that is not the work of a coward, I do not know what is," Tanner prodded.
Another swing, another miss.
"Oh, wait. I must take that back." Tanner shuffled to the side. "There was Ambrose Hardcastle."
It was Lofton against the ropes now. All he could see was Tanner looming in front of him.
"You were so weak, you waited until you could shoot him in the back."
"That took great skill!" Lofton shouted.
Tanner stepped back and crossed his arms. "Why is that?"
"In the dark, through glass panes!" Lofton seemed then to recognize his mistake, adding, "A shot like that would have taken great skill. Few could make it, so I am told."
"But you could have done it?" Tanner jabbed his finger at Lofton's chest. "Just how do you know this? The details of his murder were only known by a few."
Arabella willed her heart to beat quieter. Had Lofton really just cast doubt over his involvement in front of thousands of witnesses?
The men pressed around her so that it was increasingly uncomfortable.
Lofton was sly. With a stoic calm, he replied, "I heard of it from Mr. Hardcastle himself. He gave me the details of his son's unfortunate demise."
Arabella thought her face would burst into flames. Tanner had all but got a confession out of Lofton, and he would wiggle his way out of it like the viper he was. Well, not this time! Not if she could help it!
With the help of the gentlemen glad to be rid of her and the small space she occupied, she hoisted herself onto the stage. Standing in the center of the ring, she pointed at Lofton. "So help me, you will not get away with another crime again. We have proof in your own handwriting, a journal detailing all the sordid details of your cowardly acts."
"You!" Lofton charged forward, raising his hand as he did so. But Arabella did not flinch. She did not need to.
Hooking his arm around Lofton's torso, Tanner raised him up in the air like a barrel of beer, then slammed him against the ground.
The crowd, of course, loved it. They cheered Tanner's name, and Arabella would be the first to admit her great relief when both Mr. Darcy and Lofton's man agreed that the match had come to an end. A rather satisfying one.
Lofton, one.
Tanner, two, for a crowd-pleasing win.
Arabella looked at Tanner, sweat dripping from his chiseled chin down his sculpted chest, and she quite forgot where she was … until her father stepped in front of her.
"I am Thomas Hardcastle, and I hereby accuse The Viscount Lofton of the murder of my son, Ambrose Hardcastle. I never discussed the details of my son's murder with this man. His open deception and outright admission condemns him before this crowd of witnesses."
Arabella's jaw dropped when her father continued, "I thank you, Mr. Tanner, for your assistance in bringing this matter to light."
Her father turned, looking down at her as he did with the warm smile she had thought never to see again. He handed her a handkerchief. "You have some dust in your eyes, lad," he said softly, squeezing her fingers as he pressed his embroidered square of silk into her hand.
Arabella's vision was blurred, but she heard everything.
"I, too, wish to accuse Lord Lofton!" called a voice from the floor.
"Me too!"
"I, also, have a complaint!"
Sir Francis pushed his way through the masses, followed by at least five other gentlemen Arabella recognized from the various balls and events they had attended thus far in the season.
Mr. Darcy handed Tanner a towel, then pulled Lofton up to his feet to face his accusers, holding his hands behind his back. "Is there a constable present?" he asked.
A man hopped onto the platform, pulling a pair of irons out and locking them around Lofton's wrists.
Murmurs grew into angry shouts, and gentlemen shoved against each other.
Tanner shouted, "Will one of the magistrates please come forward?"
Three joined them in the ring, and more gentlemen pressed forward to have their accusations against Lofton noted. Now that the lock of silence had broken, complaints poured through like floodwater.
One of the magistrates shouted, "One at a time, if you please."
The agitation of the crowd grew, and Arabella was happy to have some measure of protection inside the ropes of the stage. She would have been crushed on the court floor.
Tanner spoke to the magistrates. "I sense a brawl coming on. You had best get him out of here now if you want him in one piece."
Mr. Darcy tucked the diary back inside his pocket. They did not need it anymore.
The magistrate in charge and his constables made arrangements to call at Darcy House on the morrow, an arrangement Mr. Darcy agreed with for the time it would give to tend to Tanner's wounds.
"Let us go home," Darcy said once the crowd began to disperse, more interested in following Lofton than they were in them.
Her father asked, "May I accompany you? I can convey this … young … lad … home safely." He rested his hand lightly on Arabella's shoulder, and her instinct was to press her cheek against it.
"Excellent idea!" Mr. Darcy said, adding with a nod at the crowd and an arched e
yebrow aimed directly at her, "If I am not wrong, the gentleman’s protection will not go unappreciated."
Arabella jolted upright. "Right! There is a matter I must see to immediately." For good measure, she added, "I am grateful for your assistance … sir."
Her father leaned down to her ear. “If it pleases you, I would love nothing more than for you to call me ‘Papa’ as you used to, my dearest girl.”
It was all Arabella could do to contain the embraces and kisses she wished to shower upon the two men she loved above all others. (Of course, Tanner would have come first!) But her displays of affection would have to wait.
With her papa's help, she saw to the urgent matter Mr. Darcy had alluded to and when they had finally made it to the family carriage, she switched sides to sit beside her father. Resting her cheek against his shoulder, they started catching up for the years they had lost.
"Thank you, Papa," she said, letting her tears flow freely.
He reached up to pet her cheek, drying her tears with his thumb. "Thank your young man," he said.
Arabella snuggled into her father's side, her heart full and her mind at absolute peace.
Tanner had given her the best gift of all — a gift she relished in repaying him every day of her life.
It made what she had arranged for him all the more satisfying.
Chapter 33
Darcy ushered Tanner up to his room where Lawrence was ready with a cold bath, several white towels, and countless bottles of ointments and tonics.
Tanner still felt bruised and tender to the touch after Lawrence’s ministrations, but at least he was clean. The rest would heal in time. Until then, he would avoid mirrors, brisk movements, and smiles.
Darcy knocked on his door just as Lawrence straightened Tanner's cravat. "Your family is waiting for you in the music room."
Tanner thanked Lawrence and followed Darcy. He looked forward to hearing Georgiana play. She could lift anyone's spirits with her music, and Tanner wanted nothing more than to relax and enjoy the company of his brother, sisters, and Arabella (who, hopefully, was home by now).